A Tale of Two Kings
by pyrrhicvictoly
Summary: A prince becomes a soldier becomes a traitor becomes a king. An account of the rise of the last great king of Dai Shimaron, his unorthodox alliance with the Demon King, and their struggle for peace.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** This will be the prequel AND sequel to The Price (which was written a LONG time ago, but you'll get some context if you read that first), expanding on the world of the AU Conrad and Yuuri introduced in that fic - a world that was influenced by the novels and built around this premise: "What if Conrad never came back from Dai Shimaron?" But of course, where that was a short one-shot mostly about their relationship, this will have a lot more plot and politics.

I started writing this also a LONG time ago, and have been slowly picking at it every once in a while (so please excuse the obvious difference in quality between certain parts). There's currently ~30k of usable material, mostly in the beginning and end, and a lot of notes. I originally wanted to finish it before posting, but that's... not gonna happen. I figure I'll start posting and that'll kick my ass into gear about filling in the missing middle pieces.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_Yuuri reaches his own room, falls into a fitful sleep, and dreams of laughter, baseball, and bad puns._

It was still night as he woke up shuddering and gasping, clutching at the fabric of his nightshirt so as to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest. The events and the emotions that he had felt had seemed as if they could actually happen - in fact, _had_ actually happened in a world where things played out differently.

That dream had seemed so real. In it, he had been sixteen again, only Conrad was there, too. In that world, Conrad had come back to Shin Makoku, and while he had still been dancing around the engagement with Wolfram, things were generally going well. Sure, Dai Shimaron was considered an enemy nation with which they had an unstable truce, but their daily lives at the castle were so much brighter. That other Yuuri was so much more innocent and carefree than he was, though no less stubborn or idealistic, and Yuuri, _this_ Yuuri, couldn't help feeling envious.

It was probably stupid that he was jealous of himself, but for a moment of weakness, he had thought he would trade away peace for personal happiness. It was wrong of him to think so, of course. How could he trade the lives of so many innocents just to keep an old friend by his side? It was selfish of him to think things would be better that way.

Yuuri pushed back his blankets and wrapped a light cloak around himself before striding out the door and into the darkened corridors. He waved the guards back to their posts and walked the winding path to the guest chambers with solid purpose in each step.

The door to the largest room in this wing was shut, but there was still faint yellow candlelight gleaming from the cracks. Yuuri's hand paused at the doorknob, then quietly turned it.

Weller, sitting at the bedside desk with a sheaf of papers before him, noticed the entrance immediately.

"What brings you here, Yuu- Your Majesty?"

Yuuri made his way over the plush rugs and settled on the edge of the bed next to Conrad. "Hmm. You're doing paperwork? At this time of night? With no one like Gwendal hovering over you until you get it all done?"

He got an amused eye-squint out of that, so Yuuri's grin widened.

"Ah, it's not quite like that. It's true that my assistants have deemed these documents to be part of the pile that 'must be completed in a timely manner', but I had originally intended to look them over on the way back." Conrad paused, and there was that amusement again. "Sleep just did not seem to be coming tonight. Perhaps it's, as they say on Earth, jet-lag? We've been traveling non-stop on the new, much faster houseki-powered steamboats, after all."

"Ha! No way! His Majesty Conrart Weller does _not_ get jet-lag! Just admit it - you're worrying about crap and you can't sleep. Eh... You do realize I'm going to have to tease you mercilessly about the whole Lion King business, right?"

"Yes, of course. I was waiting for you to say that."

Conrad smiled at him, and it was a real smile because they had been bantering just like they used to. Suddenly, Yuuri's mouth felt too dry. The temptation to pick things up where they had left off- no, to be so much more than what they had before... Just drinking in the sight of the smile he had missed so much was not enough to quench his thirst. He needed to... He needed to...

Biting his lower lip, Yuuri haltingly placed his hands on the other man's shoulders and leaned forward to give him a kiss. It was light and fleeting, but when he tried to pull back, Conrad gripped his hand.

"Yuuri? I thought you..."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to turn my back on you! You heard what I said, and it was true! And I meant it in every way! I just..." His voice trailed off after the outburst. "I just couldn't stand to see you walking away from me again. Okay, and maybe I kind of did that for revenge, too, but mostly it was because I just... couldn't stand it anymore. Did I hear wrong in the garden? Don't you feel anything for me anymore?"

Conrad's shoulders relaxed at the confession, but he turned his eyes away. Yuuri's hand, still in his grasp, was sweating profusely. He couldn't see what kind of expression Conrad was wearing. Although some part of him knew that Conrad would always feel something for him, he hated it when Conrad would get so distant and unreadable.

At last, Conrad drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

Then he said, "You know I do, but we can't."

Yuuri lowered his head and nodded minutely in defeat. It wasn't as if he had honestly expected a different answer. It was always so easy to be around Conrad, and yet so difficult to stay with him. With a strange twisting in his gut, he managed to lift his lips in a sad smile. The way things are now, is that they are both Kings. As a King is his country, loving a King means loving his people, too. All that they do now is for the good of the people. That is what they have to work with; that is what they have to focus on now.

"You're leaving tomorrow," he said, giving Conrad's hand a squeeze. "One more for the road?"

He was leaning in again, brushing their chapped lips together. The meeting was sweet. Innocent. It was their second kiss, and he thought it might be their last. And yet, the feeling being conveyed was that of a naive boy's first love.

It was a promise of remembrance.

When Yuuri broke apart this time, Conrad's hand was slack against his, and he was able to mumble a parting before quietly padding his way out the door. But he paused in the doorway as he came to the realization that he would never be able to let go gracefully.

"Conrad," Yuuri said, "no matter how many times we part, I'll never let you go for good. I'll never give up as long as you still have feelings for me."

Conrad stared at his own mismatched hands long after the door clicked shut and the candle burned down to nothing. Tomorrow would be their official parting, but this night was what he would remember, and that kiss was what would fuel him for what he needed to do. It would carry him on his selfish quest.

Conrad whispered into the shadows, "I promise you this, Yuuri: I will find a way to return to your side."


	2. Arc I: Betrayal, Birthright

**His Arm, His Chest, His Life**

"Go, Yuuri! Now!"

It was as he thought. The enemies were attacking him, Conrart Weller. The enemies were targeting him and not Yuuri. This wasn't a case of removing the bodyguard first. If it were, they would only try to keep him engaged long enough to get to Yuuri. There was no way they would spend all their energy attacking the guard when the King was defenseless. But they hadn't even spared Yuuri a second glance. Now that Conrad knew he had their full attention, he had to find a way to keep it, lest they decide to aim for his weakness.

Conrad brought his sword up to deflect another blow. One of the masked figures who had been skulking behind the others glanced toward the back of the church where Yuuri was swaying on shaking knees. He made a dive for Yuuri, but Conrad jumped in front and sliced at his wrist to disarm him. Conrad's fears were coming true, then. They were beginning to target Yuuri in order to distract him.

And it was working.

"Go!" Conrad snapped.

They were on him now. Conrad felt his heartbeat quicken, and suddenly his vision and his movements were sharper, quicker. The adrenalin rushing through his system had helped work him up into a frenzied bloodlust.

With a near inhuman scream, his blade lashed out against his opponents. They cut him, thin red slices across his arms, back, and abdomen. All he could see was Yuuri staring at him in horror! Why wouldn't Yuuri move?!

Go, Yuuri! I will protect you, Yuuri! Protect Yuuri! Protect Yuuri protect Yuuri protect Yuuri!

It was a clean slice. There was no pain yet, but only a sickening squish of ripped flesh and the crunch of severed bone, and in the next moment, when he lifted his arm to block the path of one of his opponents, it wasn't there.

"Conrad, no!"

Then he glanced back at Yuuri, and was relieved to see the boy moving. Stumbling back while shaking his head in disbelief, Yuuri disappeared in a flash as Conrad gave him a smile that he hoped wasn't as desperate as he felt. Through the rage and the blood running down his face, he must have looked like a monster. P_rotect Yuuri protect Yuuri protect Yuuri._

Belatedly, he felt the warm, sticky wetness pouring down from his shoulder to soak through the side of his uniform. Block, parry, slash, another one down. The thick spurts of arterial blood kept coming as he fought on. His fighting time was measured in minutes now, if not seconds, and there were two left to dispose of.

The last two charged at him simultaneously from either side. Conrad ducked and rolled into the pews, toward the flames. Hoping to buy more time, he slammed his wounded side down on a fiery fallen beam with a crunch of bone shards and squelch of splinters meeting torn muscles. Roasting, singeing, smell of human meat.

He screamed through the charring of his own flesh, somehow finding the strength to jerk his good side into action. With an upward twist, Conrad brought the edge to slice through another man's abdomen. His sword swept back the other way; the flat of the blade smacked his enemy's back, sending the last one flying into the heart of the inferno.

It was done.

He was tired.

He wanted to rest.

So he laid back down.

And closed his eyes.

Conrart Weller, the Lion of Rutenberg, Commander of the Maou's personal guard, was going to die here. Here, in the smoldering ruins of an abandoned church, with wrecked pews beside him, decorated with the artlessly strewn lifeless bodies of those who had been slain by his hand. Clarity of thought came to him once more, as the last of the battle frenzy wore off, and all he could do was smile bitterly at his dismal end.

He was a gory mess on one side, the wound where his arm had been still sluggishly trickling blood despite his earlier attempts to cauterize the flesh, and all he could think about was that he was glad Yuuri wasn't around to see this, because he didn't think he could stay strong against those tears. And then, just as soon as it had come, his thoughts became blurred again, obscured by the declining brain function brought about by extreme blood loss.

His last minute was up and he was alone, bleeding out… onto the hard… stone… floor...

* * *

><p>Across the dimensional rift, Yuuri splashed up from a pool of water, soaked to the bone and clutching desperately at the deep blue pendant that had never left his side from the day he'd received it.<p>

As the adrenaline burned out, his eyes began to sting. He'd always hated crying. It made him feel so weak, so useless. He wasn't going to cry, he told himself. He _wasn't_.

But his breath kept hitching in his chest and he ached all over like he'd been running a marathon. It was starting to sink in now - what he had lost, and how stupid he had been to think of his life in Shin Makoku as a game. Yuuri's breaths came quicker and quicker. They came out harshly through his nose as he sat in the bathtub, increasing in speed and volume until he'd had to bite down on his own hand to keep from sobbing.

The scene was seared into his mind. There was fire and blood everywhere, and Conrad had… Conrad had…!

Yuuri curled up on himself, hugging his knees as he sat in the cooling bath. The part of his mind that liked to berate himself for being weak had finally shut up once the reality of the situation had caught up to him. No one would blame him if they knew what he'd seen. Yuuri had never known real tragedy before this. He'd never lost someone so important to him.

For Conrad, he would make an exception. He would sob his heart out here, and feel no remorse for it. Because Conrad was worth all the tears in this world and beyond.

* * *

><p>Light. Bright light.<p>

The afterworld?

No.

"Wake, Lord Weller."

The voice that called him was commanding in tone, and powerful beyond anything he'd heard before. Conrad could do naught but obey.

The first thing he saw amidst the light was hair, curling and golden like Wolfram's. The face it framed could belong only to one entity.

"Shinou..."

"Yes. And you're absolutely right, Lord Weller. They were after you. Your arm, specifically."

"But they didn't get it," he said, his voice a raspy whisper, "and Yuuri is safe."

"For the time being, yes. But you're dying. I could let you live."

"What do you want in exchange?"

"What a suspicious man you are," Shinou said with amusement. "Soldiers are coming now, to scan the rubble for your body. You'll be in Dai Shimaron when you wake. I trust you know what needs to be done to keep them away from the keys."

Shinou sent a vague impression into his mind. It was partly the tale of Lawrence Weller and the curse upon the Weller bloodline, and partly the tale of Robert Weller, whose arm was the true key that King Belar sought. Conrad knew, in that instant, what Shinou was asking of him; what kind of farce he would be playing out in order to keep Yuuri safe.

"They'll keep you alive for when the boxes are gathered. A living key is more useful than a dead one. Do you accept?"

There was something strange in Shinou's plan, and too many variables left unaccounted for, but Conrad was not so arrogant a man as to think he could figure this out on his own. Shinou's plots were too complicated for him to know, but they had worked out in the past, so Conrad grudgingly put his trust in the hands of the spirit of the first king. Perhaps he was being manipulated. No, he almost certainly was. But what choice did he have? To die for Yuuri, or to live for Yuuri. Those were his only choices. The first was easy; the second had a greater chance of insuring Shin Makoku's safety, but would bring untold amounts of pain for everyone involved. They might never forgive him once he was done, if he was ever done.

It was also the only choice he could think of making, and Shinou knew so all along. As he was in the past, so he was yet again: just a pawn in a game of chess beyond his understanding.

"Live, Lord Weller. Live to protect your master another day."

"...For Yuuri..."

"Sleep now, and don't forget your promise to me. It's a binding contract."

-oOo-

Conrad awoke to the sound of tinkling glass. His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open to examine his surroundings. His body ached all over, but the throbbing was worst at his left arm. He had been injured. He had been _dying_, so this was to be expected. It was even mild, considering the circumstances.

The room was dark at the corners, but bright here, where was a single lamp at the bedside table. There was a stern-faced physician in attendance, measuring careful amounts of herbal powders onto a bandage. The physician barely spared his patient a glance, leveling him with that same serious gaze he focused on his work, before he muttered under his breath, "So you're awake. Stay still."

The bandage around Conrad's left arm, which he was just noticing at the moment, was stained with blood and pus. It smelled when it was cut, the healing process having expelled dark-colored fluids onto the cloth. Conrad had had his share of battle wounds, and this one did not seem as grave as some others. For all that there was an unpleasant odor, now swiftly being wiped away, the wound looked fairly clean. There was no rotting, nor much discoloration.

What was strange about it, however, was that the cut - now just an angry red line - went all the way around the circumference of his arm. It was almost geometrically precise, as if the entire limb had been severed by a very sharp blade, which it had, and been reattached at the point of severance, which it had not.

The flesh above, at the shoulder, was Conrad's own. Below, it was not. This was immediately obvious if one were to look at both parts together. Conrad didn't want to anger his physician by moving the injured limb, but he was still morbidly curious. With great difficulty, he lifted his right hand and positioned it so that he could see them side by side.

Here, too, they were different. He had a mismatched set of hands. One darker than the other, one with slightly slimmer fingers than the other, one with a thumb that was bent where the other was not. It didn't matter which was which, but that there were minute differences between the two which marked one as not his own. The scars that he remembered were gone, and in their place were others. Other scars, other stories, other histories that did not belong to this Conrart Weller who bore them. The hand obeyed him, though, when he told the fingers to curl into his borrowed palm.

By the time Conrad had finished his survey of his body and the room, the physician had finished wrapping the new bandage and was gathering his tray. He left without a word, taking the lamp with him.

The second time Conrad woke, it was to the vision of a rather foppish man in a feathered hat.

"Good afternoon," he said, and Conrad noted that there was indeed light streaming in through the windows. "Allow me to introduce myself. Lord Bradford Hawke, at your service."

Lord Hawke sketched an elegant bow. He had light blond hair neatly slicked back, as well as a small pointed mustache and goatee. And he dressed garishly in bright reds, blues, and greens, all the colors crowding together like he had fallen onto one of Wolfram's paintings while it was still wet.

The thought of his brother made Conrad's throat close up and sting as if he'd swallowed a bone. He would have tried for an insincere smile if he were in a lighter mood. As it was, he nodded to Lord Hawke in acknowledgement and started to push up from the bed to return the introduction.

"Oh, no need, no need." Lord Hawke gestured for Conrad to remain as he was. "We all know who you are, Lord Weller. The inner court, that is. Old Belar's been scheming again, you see - he does so love his schemes. And he's been saying to us how interesting it was that he'd found the Weller heir. The Weller estate's long been sold - your grandfather, being the free spirit that he was, never stayed to fight for his inheritance - but oh, how very interesting that the Weller branch of the family should make a sudden reappearance. How wonderful that you are now here to complete the Tripartite House of Belar!" He clasped his hands together in a mockery of joy as he spoke.

Conrad took note of the hints the man was dropping, but he carefully maintained an impassive mask. It was hard to keep the shock out of his face when he learned that the Wellers had such intimate ties to King Belar extending to the present day. His father had only told him that they had a long history, and the genealogies in Shin Makoku only mentioned the human family in terms of them being descendants of the great Lawrence Weller, who fought at Shinou's side during the unification of the Mazoku and the founding of Shin Makoku.

While Conrad had spent some time in Dai Shimaron before, he had mostly wandered around the countryside. The people he had come into contact with were usually peasants, with the occasional young adventurer thrown into the mix. He had not thought it necessary to dig deeply into the inner workings of the nobility, nor did his lessons in Shin Makoku cover such matters. Gwendal and Gunter also had not mentioned much about Dai Shimaron's political structure. In fact, the politics of Dai Shimaron only came up when it had something to do about how the human nation was "acting up" or "showing signs of aggression".

Perhaps it was a failing of the Mazoku that they let their bad blood with Dai Shimaron prevent them from understanding their foes. With his lack of knowledge in this area, the "Tripartite House of Belar" meant nothing to Conrad. It seemed important, so Conrad marked it as such in his mind.

When Conrad declined to respond, Lord Hawke continued. "His Majesty's been saying that the main branch of the Belar family's gone weak with complacency, and your cousins the Valairs, eccentric as they are… Well, everyone knows the Valair branch has always been too politically unambitious to be worthy opponents for the court games the king likes to play. I'm sure he'll greatly enjoy using you as the wrench in the plans of so many others."

There was a certain edge, a certain hardness to him that hinted at there being more to the man than just the dandy act. Conrad continued to watch him carefully as he paced back and forth from the door to the bed.

Hawke suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned to face Conrad. With a shrug and a grin that didn't reach his eyes, he said, "As for me, I just wanted to see what had gotten so many knickers in a twist."

"You say that as if you shouldn't be here, Lord Hawke."

"That would be true, and I'll be out of your hair in a moment. However, I thought there ought to be someone to tell you what you're in for. His Majesty will be calling for you soon. I won't pretend to know his plans, but sooner or later, he'll introduce you to the court. Remember me if you need a friendly face."

Lord Hawke bowed again, the feather on his hat bobbing along with the motion. He then swept out of the room with a practiced grace.

Conrad stared at the door as it clicked shut. Lord Hawke certainly loved the sound of his own voice.


	3. I-2

**House Belar Reunited**

He said his goodbyes when they lowered the remains into the sea. He said them, but there was no feeling of closure.

Yuuri didn't think he would ever forget, for as long as he lived, the feel of Conrad's dead flesh. Tattered, broken, and bloody. Cool to the touch. Grotesque. He would never forget what a severed limb looked like, and he would never forget the kind of muted horror that came with the knowledge that such a thing had once belonged to someone. That arm, resting at the bottom of the ocean, was the same one that had held him, that had supported him.

There had also been a bloated corpse in the wreckage of the church when they went back for Conrad. The man's face had turned black, his eyes bulged, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. Yuuri had retched into the ashes and continued to dig until he found what remained of Conrad.

It was one thing to know what death was, and it was another thing entirely to see it. There was a stark divide in Yuuri's life now. Before, when he was a child, and now, when loss had made a man of him too soon.

He would give anything to go back to before.

* * *

><p>Victor's shoes clacked steadily against the paving stones. He channeled all his attention to the sound in an attempt to forget, at least in the meantime, the gravity of his current situation.<p>

"Good evening, Lord Valair."

"Ah, g-good evening, ladies."

The castle's maids tittered as he passed. Victor tried his best to keep his features schooled, but he was sure there was a fierce blush rising up his cheeks. He stepped up the pace, eager to be back in his own quarters, and nearly tripped over a loose stone on the cobbled path. The maids' muffled laughter increased after that, and Victor quickly rounded the corner and pressed himself against the wall, hoping to disappear into it.

"I will never live this down, I will never live this down," he chanted as he smacked the back of his head repeatedly against the wall.

It was Victor's first season at court, and he had already felt out of place before he even left his hometown. Valair province was far to the north, and Victor had been able to dodge his introduction to court until he was twenty years old - almost unacceptably late by the standards of these things - by claiming a number of excuses from travel difficulties to local responsibilities.

They were true, for the most part. It was hard for him to come down to Dai Shimaron's capital with all the upheaval that had been going on in his own neck of the woods. His parents had retired to who knows where - somewhere warmer, they said, and sent postcards with pineapples and coconuts on them as proof - and the lordship, which had originally been intended for his older brother - also run off somewhere warmer, and possibly with a scandalous lover - had fallen to the second child.

At first, while his parents and brother were still around, he had refused the invitations to court in favor of his studies at Valair province's prodigious Magical Research Institute. The most he'd had to worry about had been having his teachers always comparing his work ethic to that of his brother's. He used to hate when they would say, "Oh, you've much more natural talent than Argent, but if you were even half as focused as him…!" What he wouldn't give to have them still at him like that!

But it wasn't to be. Things had all gone down the shitter and he was left to clean up the mess and get settled into his shiny new lordship. At least King Belar was reasonable and left him to sort out his problems before demanding the new lord come pay his respects. Victor had built the entirety of his young life around being the spare; around being a younger member of the nobility whom no one would watch too closely. Now he was here, attending the dreaded court, and it had come with an unexpected and totally unwanted boost to his station. He had thought, when he was about sixteen and first asked to debut, that he would be able to hide in the background as just another young lord of Valair. But being _the_ Lord Valair, the only Lesser Lord of the Most Illustrious Tripartite House of Belar left since the Weller branch had disappeared, made this dream impossible.

Not only was he expected to attend all the balls and other matchmaking social gatherings for the debutantes, but he was also expected to meet with the other governing lords when they convened. His days were spent running between finding matches and alliances with lords and ladies, and talking regional politics and trade routes with Lords and Ladies. The first group found him funny (not in a good way) for his lack of grace; the latter thought him too inexperienced to be worth listening to, and it was only for his blood that they didn't shut him out. It was a bad deal all around.

"Good evening, cousin."

The voice spoke so suddenly that Victor jumped. Shocked out of his trance, he bit his cheek to stifle an unmanly squeal. Behind him was his distant cousin Lanzhil, one of the last people he wanted to see right now.

"Um, yes. I mean, good evening to you, too… cousin."

Lanzhil, flanked on both sides by his retainers, mockingly inclined his head in a half-bow. His smirk was horrid, and Victor was infinitely glad to see him continue on his way. It was just his luck to be related to the Belars. Insanity was probably in their blood. All of them, no exceptions. Victor himself was more than likely insane as well, or would be one of these days. Seriously, it wasn't a stretch, considering who some of his relatives were. Every once in a while they would get a real loony who would be better off just quietly taken to the back and shot. Historically, King Robert had hacked off his own arm and jumped out a window to his death. More recently, there was Lanzhil.

Lanzhil was trouble; everyone knew so. His Majesty, for all that he was reasonable when it came to his dealings with the outer provinces, must have been some special kind of Belar-crazy not to have put Lanzhil out of his misery a long time ago. One of these days, his nephew would murder him in his sleep.

Victor grumbled this to himself, scuffing his feet on the floor, until he suddenly remembered.

"Oh, sh– I'm gonna be late!"

No wonder Lanzhil had given him that sarcastic look! They were supposed to be headed toward a meeting, only Victor forgot as soon as the maids started giggling at him. He careened the rest of the way down the hall, not caring that it would mess his hair up even more.

Victor burst into the conference room and only stumbled a tiny bit. He arrived just as King Belar was saying, "Where's Lord Val–?"

"Here! I'm here!"

-oOo-

It had been a few days since Conrad had arrived in Dai Shimaron. He was many miles away from his home, in a land where the people hated and feared the demon race. He had been to Dai Shimaron many times before, both with and without his father accompanying him. It was the land of his father's family, but he had not even once considered that he would call this land his own.

Once he had healed enough, King Belar had personally come to pay a visit. Belar had probably once been a handsome man in his youth, though nowadays his skin was sallow and he had dark bags under his eyes from too little sleep. Speaking to him felt like bathing in an oil slick. Sly and greasy all the way through, that was the impression Conrad had gotten.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now and keep your arm in a block of ice."

Conrad, who had rehearsed his story before, said, "I'm concerned about Shin Makoku's false god, Shinou. His insistence on keeping the boxes separate has let them fester and poison the world around them. I believe it would be better if they were together, their power harnessed for the greater good."

Half lies, half truths. The words came surprisingly easy to him, and Belar had laughed.

"You amuse me, Weller. Come, be my right hand. Let's give them all a show."

Belar gave a shark-like grin. It didn't sound like he bought Conrad's story. As Lord Hawke said, he wanted Conrad around to play some games on his own people. There was also probably a sick sense of enjoyment at having the Lion of Rutenberg, the war hero who had destroyed Belar's chances at conquering Shin Makoku, at his beck and call. (And Belar knew who Conrad was, of course. He was too paranoid not to know the background of everyone in his castle.)

This Belar was unlike the one from twenty years ago. He was a man teetering on the edge of insanity and paranoia. Something had happened to the old King Belar, who, while he had started a disastrous war in the early days of his reign, had always been of a sound and tactical mind, or so Conrad had gathered from the way Belar had organized his forces during the war. Belar was always somewhat aggressive even after the loss, but this recent hunger for the boxes had led him to act rashly, unpredictably.

Lord Hawke rose in Conrad's esteem for the warning.

Now, as Conrad stood beside the king's seat, he breathed deeply to prepare himself to play the part of the dutiful puppet. They arrived early because Belar liked to be the first in the room. More paranoia on his part, Conrad supposed, if he suspected his people would plant a trap in the room if he were not the first there.

One by one, the lords and ladies streamed into the conference hall and took their seats. A few glanced Conrad's way with open curiosity; others dismissed him with their gaze or pretended not to notice. There was an older man whom Conrad noticed because his bearing was that of a lifelong soldier's. Then a woman laden with jewels and a full-bearded man and so on. There was also a plump, pleasant-faced woman with surprisingly dark skin. It was darker even than the desert tribes. Conrad had never seen dark-skinned humans in Dai Shimaron before. He couldn't help but wonder how blackness, so revered by the Mazoku, was regarded among the humans here. Was it discriminated against the way it sometimes was on Earth?

Lord Hawke sauntered in at the tail end of the lords' procession, followed by a beautiful young woman in a green dress. She had her arm in his, and Conrad would have guessed it was his lover except that there was a family resemblance in the eyes and nose. A relative, then.

Conrad met the man's eyes from across the room and gave him a curt nod. Hawke tipped his hat to Conrad in return, then darted his eyes to specific others in the room, presumably as a message that Conrad should watch out for them. He then quickly turned to whisper indulgently to his companion.

One of those whom Lord Hawke pinned with his gaze was the young man who arrived just moments before him; he was one of many in the room who bore an uncanny resemblance to King Belar, sporting the same wavy light brown hair and prominent cheekbones. Another was a sharp-featured woman with prematurely gray hair. Leaders of rival factions, Conrad presumed.

Belar swept his gaze across the room, chuckling a bit to himself as he noticed something. "And where has that boy gone off to now? Where's Lord Val–?"

"Here! I'm here!"

Lord Valair, Conrad presumed, skidded to a halt right at the doors. He slammed into them with a bang, actually, and spent a moment clutching at his injured foot. His cheeks were flushed and he looked embarrassed to the point of nausea as he tried to duck behind the gray-haired woman and away from the patronizing glances many threw his way. Even Lord Hawke scoffed and shook his head, and Conrad remembered what he had said about the Valairs being eccentric but politically unambitious. It fit this boy completely.

If it also reminded Conrad of another boy he would rather not think of at the moment, he denied it even to himself.

-oOo-

Once the meeting began and His Majesty introduced his surprise guest, Victor couldn't tear his eyes away from Lord Weller. (It was probably unseemly, the way his jaw had dropped at the news.)

Victor felt his whole world light up at the thought that he was no longer the only Lesser Lord of the Most Illustrious et cetera et cetera House of Belar. Lord Weller lived! Long lost cousin Weller had come to save him!

That was before he got a closer look at Lord Weller.

Lord Weller appeared close to Victor in age, though he was much better built. Victor thought himself awkward and disheveled, as many commoners his age were. Even among the nobility, with all their etiquette lessons ad nauseum, younger members would often slip up and belie their age. Conrart Weller, though, was _different_. He was groomed and pressed to military precision, and stood with the bearing of a man with the kind of self-confidence that comes from years of experience. His eyes were not unkind, but they were closed off, distant. And they were… old, was the only word Victor could think of that fit. Lord Weller was maybe only nineteen or twenty - definitely not much past that - but he had seen too much of the world already.

The older people in the room might not have noticed it, since Victor couldn't help but think they didn't pay nearly enough attention to young people in order to notice these things, but the oldness in Lord Weller's eyes was disconcerting. Victor considered himself fairly good, or at least "not shabby" when it came to noticing things about other people, and to him it was just not possible that someone that… someone that perfect could exist without having already made a name for himself somewhere. (This was a point for further research.)

He was intimidating, is what he was. His outward perfection was kind of creepy. Otherworldly. Like, maybe one of those smoldering male leads in cheesy romance novels who turned out to have a dark secret. Maybe they were half-vampire or half-Mazoku, or half-vampire _and_ half-Mazoku like the main love interest in _Demonic Midnight Seduction_, a novel which Victor and his friends had petitioned to place in the humor section of the Magical Research Institute's voluminous library. Victor wouldn't put it past the crazy that lurked in the Belar blood to produce vampire-Mazoku babies, who would be doll-like until they were prodded, and then their heads would turn all the way backwards while their body still faced forwards, or something of the like.

His Majesty the King seemed not to want any questions about his new charge. Lord Weller himself didn't even crack one smile throughout the entire meeting. He was all stony-faced and unreadable and seemed to glower a bit when he looked in Victor's direction… Yes, definitely half-vampire and half-Mazoku. He probably never slept and could hypnotize people who looked directly into his eyes.

Victor looked down at his parchment where he was supposed to be taking notes, and discovered that he had doodled ninja-vampires and Mazoku-robots all over the margins. (The Mazoku had cute little wings on them.)

No, Lord Weller's presence would most likely only make things worse. He decided that he was going to pretend none of this ever happened. When he tuned back in to the discussion, the topic at hand had shifted to the upcoming Ultimate Tournament, which was always rigged in Dai Shimaron's favor and was a pretty barbaric celebration overall, but what the hell. There would be sled races and festival foods, and usually nobody died, so Victor cast his vote - his singular contribution for the day - in favor of increasing the Tournament's budget.

He also volunteered some of his province's engineers to design safer competitions, but was promptly shut down.

Lanzhil, because _of course_ it was Lanzhil, said, "My dearest cousin, bless your soft heart, but that ruins the competitive spirit of the Ultimate Tournament. Danger has always been a part of the games - an essential part, I would hazard to say. We can't be known to our neighbors as a country that coddles our greatest warriors!"

Victor's weak "Yes, but," trailed off into silence and, with a subtle shake of the head from his ally Lady Rookwood, became a hasty "Never mind." He hoped that no one had seen her cue to him, but alas, even that was not to be. Lord Hawke, ever perceptive to the slightest scent of political intrigue, gave him that knowing smile and petted his stupid facial hair. Victor would have to apologize to Lady Rookwood later.

-oOo-

Conrad grit his teeth and maintained his position as Belar's silent guard. None of the lords at the meeting, no matter how strongly they argued on other subjects, dared to question their king about the presence of the strange guard at his side who claimed to be related to the royal line. Belar's slick smile shut them up neatly. There was no question that he held absolute power over his court.

The meeting concluded when King Belar swept out from the room, retiring to his chambers. Conrad rose with him, and together they left the other nobles, who were still seated. Belar entered alone, shutting his door with a smirk aimed at Conrad. As the other guards took their position on either side of the grand door, Lord Hawke sauntered up in his theatrical way. The lady in green was noticeably absent from his side.

"Ah, the man of the hour!"

Conrad tipped his chin in Hawke's direction.

"Come, Lord Weller, let me show you around the town."


End file.
